“Shia lowas,” she said, and started to rip at his boot while another woman helped. Once his stockings were off they flipped his foot over and crowded around, to study the underside.
One of the women traced her finger along the scar there, shaped like a mountain range. Then the Vogaths lowered their rocks. A man asked Argus how he'd gotten it—and why.
He told them what had happened in the dracán. How after he survived the rinna brought him down to the spring and made the marking with her dagger. How they washed the blood off in the steaming water, and he didn't feel any pain afterward.
One man still wanted to know why the mark was made, so Argus told them. Whenever someone died, when it was time for Voga to reach up through the mountain and carry his people down into his cave, the markings showed him which ones to bring with him.
At last Argus dared to look at their faces. They backed away, inspecting him. A few of them dropped their rocks. Still cautious, the Vogaths asked Argus who was rinna when the tribe had taken him in.
That's when he learned Hema was dead. Voga had taken her six years ago. He lowered his head, blinking back tears. When he raised it again and wiped them away, he recognized their faces.
“Tanit,” he said. “Saqui and Yasar and Anu.” A few he didn't recognize, and he'd last seen the others when they were young children. He'd left the tribe before they had the chance to grow up.
The Vogaths recoiled like they'd just been struck. Then one of the young women, Saqui, lunged forward and embraced him. “Argo! Pola tum?”
He pulled her close and assured her that yes, it was really him. Tanit and Yasar remembered him too. A few blurry memories. The strange white face among all the brown ones. Anu, and the two others whose names were unfamiliar didn't remember him at all.
Vogaths spent all of their lives worrying about outsiders. When they were young they were warned, and with age they started doing the warning. Anyone who came from either side of the Riven Mountains wasn't to be trusted.
Thank the gods Hema made an exception.
Her death hadn't hit him yet. But it would. It uncoiled around him like a serpent whose poison he hadn't yet felt. Finding a second mother had kept him alive. Now all the pain from his Leithish mother's death came back to him, throbbed and doubled.
There would be time for grief later on, though.
Now was the time to unsheathe Reaver and make a tiny prick on his palm. He handed the sword to Saqui, who did the same before passing it on to Yasar. Once all of their palms were wet with blood, Argus dipped a finger into his and smeared the blood into Saqui's forehead. Then Saqui did the same to him. Next they held each other's shoulders and pressed their foreheads together.
A timeless Vogathi greeting. A welcome home for those who'd been lost in the mountains.
Argus repeated the ritual with the rest of the group. He wanted to tell them about his friends sleeping up above on the mountain. But they urged him to take a dip in the spring. He stripped off his clothes and went in with them, luxuriating in the heat. He found a rock to lean on and stayed there until all the pain from the past few weeks had left him.
The Vogaths claimed that every hour spent in the spring made you one year younger. When Argus stepped out he felt like a different man completely. A spoiled prince instead of an exile living by his sword and wits.
He caught the young men and women glancing at one another while they got dressed. Lowered heads. A blush. He apologized then, because he realized they were about to couple when he'd arrived. Yasar laughed, and reminded Argus there was a good month left in spring. The women covered their faces and blushed.
It happened nearly every spring night. Full moons, like tonight's, were especially favorable. The rinn sent the young men and young women who hadn't borne children down to different hot springs. After bathing they were supposed to couple on the shore. Every man lay with every woman.
There were no fathers in Vogath. None besides the tribe itself.
Argus was glad he'd left before experiencing it himself. Sharing wasn't his strong suit—especially with the heart. And with his white skin, if he fathered a child, the tribe would know without a doubt.
After they'd gotten dressed and laughed at Argus's boots, the Vogaths started to scamper up the mountain to the east. That's when Argus paused and said he had something to tell them. The prick in his palm hadn't even stopped bleeding before all the smiles vanished. The Vogaths stood a little taller, leaning away with their arms crossed in front of them. They reminded him of the rules. Now that Hema was dead, there were no exceptions.
Argus asked who was rinn. When they told him he swore. Of all the miserable bastards they could have picked… why'd it have to be him?
Argus told them that he trusted his flatlander friends with his life. They were people he'd laughed with, fought with, bled with. Their faces softened. He used all the charm he had to convince them to at least visit their camp and meet them. He swore an oath to face whatever consequences Hadad gave him.
The Vogaths huddled together, whispering. In the end they agreed Yasar would escort Argus back to camp, and the others would join them on Dola peak. If Argus even mentioned the spring to his flatlander friends, Yasar would dash his skull against the rocks until he was dead. He agreed.
They climbed up the western side of the bowl. Argus moved faster than before, like a man who'd just slept for a week. Yasar still had to stop half a dozen times to wait for him. When they reached the top Argus looked across the bowl, to the east. The rest of the bathers had disappeared.
Argus and Yasar backtracked toward camp, speaking very little. The Vogath boy had grown into a strong man; he carried a dagger made of flint. Once they descended another switchback and the flatlander fire came into view, he drew it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“Yasar doesn't speak a word of the common tongue,” Argus said. “We can talk freely.”
“In that case,” said Nasira, “this ranks as one of the dumber things you've done, Argus of Leith.”
“Argo,” said Yasar, who'd stopped once again to wait for them. The Legion looked at him, then back at the remnants of their camp. The next switchback they climbed made it disappear.
“No one passes through the Riven Mountains without encountering the Vogaths,” Argus said. “Better to do it on our terms instead of stumble into an ambush.”
“You planned this all along,” said Siggi, shaking his head. “Waited for us to go to sleep.” The Rivannan was wrong; going to the spring had been an impulse decision. But the way they glared at him said they wouldn't change their minds. Argus didn't argue. “Just trust me. I know the Vogaths.”
“Why is there blood on your head?” said Brenn.
“It's a long story. Come on, Yasar is losing us again.” They caught up to the Vogath teen and Argus chatted with him in his native tongue. While they climbed higher, he switched between Vogathi and the common tongue to offer reassurances.
Not that they helped.
The Legion of the Wind pestered him a while longer, until the path grew so treacherous there was no leeway for a misstep. Grunting and sweating they climbed. They scaled the last switchback and followed it toward a steep peak. Styr, the Vogath called it. The lightning bolt.
Nasira gawked at it and said, “Where are we go—oh!” Brenn snorted. Siggi said this must have been some kind of elaborate joke.
It wasn't. Right before they ran into the peak, Yasar stopped. He reached into the darkness and retrieved three strong ropes. These he used to cinch around the flatlanders' waists.
“Don't you need one?” Nasira said, gesturing at the boy's hips.
Yasar laughed and said something to Argus in Vogathi.
“What he'd say?”
“He says only flatlanders use ropes.”
“What about you?” said Brenn.
“I wasn't born here, but I'm part of the tribe. At least I was. If Yasar caught me using a rope to climb Styr he'd toss me off the side himself.”
After Ya
sar checked their ropes again, he skirted around the base of the peak until he reached a tiny groove on the edge.
“Is that the path?” Nasira said.
Argus nodded and watched Yasar start up it. Surrounding the Vogath on three sides was a sheer drop. Nothing out there but stars and sky. Feeling especially confident tonight, Yasar went up that tiny path backwards. He didn't even lean against the mountain for support. He waved for them to follow, then disappeared.
Brenn said, “You must be mad. Hit your head too many times as a babe. That's the only explanation.”
“It's the only way,” Argus said. “Just lean on the mountain and keep moving. Don't look down.” He smiled. “Besides, you're the ones with the ropes.” He left them there grumbling to themselves. As soon as he stepped onto that little groove, conscious thought slipped away entirely.
The night fractured into a thousand nights. He spent each one taking a step—and praying he remained on the mountain. The breeze tickled the hairs on his arms. He tried to settle his racing heart. Argus hadn't climbed with magic before.
It heightened every tiny sensation.
Breathe, step, breathe.
The path unfolded before him. All he had to do was follow it. Around the peak they wound.
Then came a scream and creaking ropes. Argus turned back and saw Siggi hanging there, swaying away from the mountain with his face the same color as the moonlight. The Rivannan looked down, swore, and when Nasira and Brenn jerked his rope back toward the mountainside, a shower of pebbles spilled over the edge.
“Easy,” Argus said. “Take your time. The rope will hold.”
Siggi unleashed a torrent of curses. Finally they pulled him back onto the mountain. He leaned against it with his legs quivering. Up ahead, Yasar's laughter echoed in the thin air.
“I should kill that whoreson,” Siggi said. “Maybe I will just yet.”
Argus bit his lip. He suspected the Rivannan would get the best of Yasar in one-on-one combat, but the fight might be closer than his friend expected. He wouldn't pit anyone against the Vogaths willingly. After all the blood he'd spilled up in these mountains, playing with the boys before they became men, he knew better.
“Let's just get to the top,” Nasira said.
“Aye,” said Brenn, beard lashing his face in the wind.
They wound their way up. Twice Argus's boots slipped on the loose rocks. The edge leered up at him just before he pulled himself back. He felt Vogath eyes up on the summit, watching. He resisted the urge to hold on to the mountainside. They'd judge him for that. See him as an outsider instead of one of their own.
At last they reached the top. The Legion crowded around Yasar on the tiny summit.
“Thank the gods,” Siggi said. If he was still angry at the young man, his gratitude of being alive outweighed it. The Vogath smiled at him. He used his bare foot to prod the end of the rope where it was hooked to the mountain with an iron anchor.
“Lusi,” he said, and laughed. He told Argus that his friends were clumsy but not lacking in courage. Most of the outsiders he'd seen turned back without ever attempting to summit Styr.
Argus smiled. He told Yasar that his friends would really hate the next part then. That made Yasar laugh. He stopped laughing when his erstwhile tribesman handed him his sword.
“What are you doing?” Brenn said.
“It's better if Yasar takes our weapons for the final stretch. We can't risk wandering into their camp with sharp steel.”
Siggi puffed out his chest. “You must be—”
“Give him your mace, Siggi. It's better this way. Besides, you'll need all the balance you have to get over the bridge.”
The Rivannan asked him what in the blazes he was talking about. Argus pointed to the next peak, the ones the Vogaths called Umali, the pitchfork. A narrow spine connected it to the summit they stood on now. It was sheer on both sides; a single misstep meant plummeting thousands of feet to death.
“No,” said Brenn. “This is a fool's errand. I'll take my chances with the green soldiers of Leith on the pass.”
“Look closer, Brenn.” Argus pointed. When he squinted into the darkness he made out black wisps stretching above the spine like threads of fabric. “Not even the Vogath will traverse the spine without a little help. There's a bridge.”
Siggi laughed.
Nasira said, “I think I'm going to be ill.”
Yet there it was. Ropes ten times thicker than the ones Yasar had wrapped around the flatlanders stretched from their summit onto the next. Between them, wooden planks hung like infinite stair steps.
“It isn't that bad,” Argus told them, and hoped he was remembering well. Probably helped I was a spry thirteen-year-old last time I crossed.
“Madness,” Nasira said. “Why in the world would people live up here?”
“Because my people and the Valcrestians kicked them out. Now come on. Just hold on to the ropes. It's just like before. Keep moving. Don't look down.”
His friends stared into that void but finally let Yasar take their weapons. He strapped them all over his body and hurried to the edge of the summit. He whistled for them to follow, stepping onto the rope bridge.
Finally they did. Argus stepped on and shut his eyes. He'd learned long ago it was easier for him to cross this way. Just one step in front of the other. The wooden creaking and the wind.
His friends' voices fell away as he climbed. Every once in a while they cried out, when the wind gusted. Argus kept his eyes closed all the while. Up ahead, he felt Yasar's rapid footsteps shifting the planks.
Gods, he thought. Feels like he's running across.
Unable to wait any longer, Argus opened his eyes and found himself halfway across. This was the worst part—nothing but the void and that jagged mountain spine poking up at him like a headsman's ax. Yasar waited three-quarters of the way across, tapping his feet. Argus looked back and found Nasira and Brenn close behind, Siggi the lone straggler.
“Come on!” he said. “See? Just as easy as a night at the tavern with friends!”
Siggi shouted something about smashing his skull in, but his voice was lost in the wind.
This gust pulled them almost completely sideways. Nasira screamed. All they could do was hold on and pray.
Yasar yelled for Argus to hurry, said he felt a storm coming on. Argus wanted to look at the clouds, but seeing a bunch of thunderheads looming would just distract him. He shut his eyes again and continued across the bridge. The wind rocked them to the left, then the right and back again. Every swing grew more violent.
Hold on. Just grab the ropes and keep moving.
His arms burned. His stomach heaved into unfamiliar places. He found himself in a three-way race. Fall. Vomit. Or cross. Who would win?
Argus opened his eyes. Almost there. The others had closed the gap between them. The Legion clustered about twenty yards behind, Nasira and Brenn guiding Siggi onward. Yasar stood at the end of the bridge and held the ropes to steady them.
“Almost there!” Argus yelled. He was surprised to hear his friends reply. For a moment the wind eased, and the air was almost still. They hurried along, taking advantage of the respite, until Yasar started to scream.
“Noth! Illo noth!”
Argus hadn't seen Yasar since he was a child, and assumed he must have developed a twisted sense of humor in the interim. It wasn't the Vogath way to joke about mythological creatures. Especially when they were evil.
“Illo noth!”
Yasar pointed into the void on their right. His face was twisted in terror. First he dashed away from the bridge, then turned and ran back toward them.
Argus peered over the edge. Pushed the vomit down. Gods. He isn't joking…
The next gust nearly pitched him right over. All he could do was lie on his stomach and claw into the wooden planks. He looked back to tell the others to do the same; they already had. Their bulging eyes locked on him as they crawled forward, screaming.
The noth beat its furry wing
s, thrashing the rope bridge. As it came closer Argus felt the heat coming off of them. He smelled its charred rock breath. Something thudded onto the bridge, knocking planks into the abyss, and when he looked ahead he saw it for the first time.
It may have been a serpent once. But that would have been a more appealing form. The noth had a long, round body as wide as one of the ash trees in the Wanderwood. Its body spilled over the sides of the bridge. Too fat to fit. He watched it expand and contract while it breathed and moved closer, exhaling its char breath.
Argus reached for Reaver, but she was nowhere to be found. He spotted Yasar on the other side of the noth's endless body. Just a speck of humanity among the rocks. A speck with all of their weapons.
The Legion screamed while the bridge sagged to support the beast's weight. Argus felt some of them crawling away, back toward the other summit, but crawling was useless. So was running. The noth was faster. Fighting seemed useless too; Vogath lore didn't contain a single story of anyone defeating such a creature.
It didn't slither like serpents did. Instead it used its warm, hairy wings to stretch forward and drag itself with its claws. Those wings were jagged and fur-covered. They must have been twenty yards wide. The legends said that beneath the fur they were fleshy, like pork skin or even human skin, but Argus had no desire to find out.
“What the fuck is that thing?” Siggi yelled.
“Gods!” shouted Nasira. “What do we do?”
Brenn said, “We kill it! If we can…”
Every time the noth advanced it knocked more planks into the void. Each pull brought it alarmingly closer, shrinking the gap between them. There were no eyes, for the noth relied only on sounds and vibrations to feel its way beneath the mountains. They'd yet to see its maw, but Argus knew it was there, lurking. Sliding across the bridge and ready to pop up and swallow them whole.
It'll swallow us all at once. Carry us down beneath the mountains.
Yasar yelled. Argus heard the Vogath but couldn't see him past the monstrosity. He forced himself to stand and looked past the slithering coil of fur and rock. The boy was still on the bridge, trying to taunt the noth away from them. He cupped his hands and yelled, and when that didn't work he ran for it, effortlessly dodging missing planks, and jumped on its tail.
Fortune's Toll (The Legion of the Wind, Book Two) Page 20
